"Your Survival Strategies Are Killing You!"

Crabbit Old Woman

“The best and most beautiful things of this world can’t be seen or touched… they must be felt by the heart!”

Helen Keller

Crabbit Old Woman

What do you see nurses? What do you see?
What are you thinking . . . when you’re looking at me?
A cranky old woman. . . not very wise;
Uncertain of habit . . . with faraway eyes?
Who dribbles her food . . . and makes no reply,
When you say in a loud voice, “I do wish you’d try!”
Who seems not to notice . . . the things that you do.
And forever is losing . . . a sock or shoe?
Who, resisting or not . . . lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding . . . the long day to fill?

Is that what you’re thinking? Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse . . . you’re not looking at me.
I’ll tell you who I am . . . as I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding . . . as I eat at your will.
I’m a small child of ten . . . with a father and mother;
Brothers and sisters . . . who love one another;
A young girl of sixteen . . . with wings on her feet;
Dreaming that soon now . . . a lover she’ll meet.
A bride soon at twenty . . . my heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows . . . that I promised to keep.
At twenty-five, now . . . I have young of my own;
Who need me to guide . . . and a secure happy home.
A woman of thirty . . . my young now grown fast;
Bound to each other . . . with ties that should last.
At forty, my young sons . . . have grown and are gone,
But my husband is beside me . . . to see I don’t mourn.
At fifty, once more . . . babies play ’round my knee;

Again, we know children . . . my loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me . . . my husband is now dead.
I look at the future . . . I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing . . . young of their own.
And I think of the years . . . and the love that I’ve known.
I’m now an old woman . . . and nature is cruel.
It’s jest to make old age . . . look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles . . . grace and vigor, depart.
There is now a stone . . . where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass . . . a young woman still dwells,
And now and again . . . my battered heart swells
I remember the joys . . . I remember the pain;
And I’m loving and living . . . life over again.
I think of the years, all too few . . . gone too fast;
And accept the stark fact . . . that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people . . . open and see. . . ME!

By Phyllis McCormack

Remember this poem when you next meet an older person who you might brush aside without looking at the young soul within. We will all, one day, be there too!

With gratitude to my good friend Valerie Wilhelm for sharing this with us.

Share this:

Like this:

Related

3 Responses

Thanks so much for this piece. It reminds me of the journey of caring for my aging folks until their deaths. For those who took the time to just “be” with them, many blessings were their reward. For those who couldn’t “be,” my folks each looked like this woman. They were both persons without their full mental capacity and/or physical abliities. . . but their essence was intact for those who took the time to “be” with them minus, expectations for them for what they were not able to do. I have no regrets, as I was able to see them for who they were inside up until their passings.

Thank you so much or sharing this with us and reminding us all to look past the challenge of caring for those we love who have grown old and embrace the opportunity to walk their final journey with them with a loving and accepting heart